Step Not On Morning Grass

for they carry the wetness exhaled by the sobbing soul of the sleeping body these dark swirling wisps escape from every crevice and ride on warm winds wrought of hot breaths morphing, shaping, solidifying into the hypnotizing sheen in night's misty eyes

They freeze at the cold turn of dawn and shatter. Pierced by the unfeeling thrust of light and cascade down to litter earth with helpless melancholy and awaiting hope.

Diamonds of dreams that melt to reveal tears at their core, they hang precipitously upon the cliffs of grass 'til thread-like, they surrender and meet the dark oblivion of earth or constrict with layers evaporated to become a speck of ash carried off toward the skies.